Convinced there were better choices out there, we asked readers what they would select as a farewell song for the BBC, which (as far as we know) doesn’t have anything cued up in case of imminent doomsday.

I’m writing a book. It’s almost done. Or so I tell people. Nobody but me can verify its existence, because I don’t seem to be able to share it with anyone. Yet. I’ve shown a few snippets of it to my husband, and to my best friend Seuss Dean with whom I can share almost anything, but in a way they are the most awkward audience for it because they both figure prominently in the narrative. So when people ask me what I’ve been working on, I just tell them that it’s a book about my experiences with psychedelics, flow arts, and polyamory. That’s usually enough to satisfy mere idle curiosity. If someone really presses me for information, I can sometimes be persuaded to divulge the working title: Playing With Fire – How I turned Chapel Perilous into the Flow Temple and Learned to Love God, the Devil, Myself, and Everyone Else.

The 1975 movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail has an honored place on my dusty DVD shelf, along with every other Monty Python Movie, Caddie Shack, Fletch and a variety of other movies that shaped my childhood and helped me get through many evenings in high school and college. The best line? “I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.” If you haven’t seen it, shame on you.

It turns out the fart in your general direction line made British censors squeamish, as well as overuse of “shit,” “Jesus Christ,” and at least one reference to oral sex.